


Surprise

by MirandasMadeOfStone



Series: Healing Ink AU [7]
Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M, Past Abuse, Sexual Tension, Smut, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:46:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6558169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandasMadeOfStone/pseuds/MirandasMadeOfStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the first part of the last of my HI Christmas fics. The one I don’t want to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I am the son  
And the heir  
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar  
I am the son and the heir  
Of nothing in particular

Tapping his boot rather impatiently against the lino floor, he tidies away the last of his inks and wipes  
down the work surface with a wad of blue paper towel. Reaching down for the disinfectant spray, he inadvertently catches a large bottle of washing up liquid, knocking it to the floor. The deep emerald liquid coagulates in a viscous pool near his feet. He slams his fist harder than intended on the counter top and utters a muffled “fuck.”

Things not going his way had pretty much been the story of his day: sleeping through the alarm, being in the shower when Rae had run out of the door and missing his morning kiss, forgetting his lunch, taking twenty minutes to find his drawings in the ludicrously messy office, and that last minute evening booking.

As he bends down with more paper towel to scoop up the slimy mess, he feels the ache return to his temples. It’s not the full blown headache that had him scurrying to the chemist for paracetamol mid-morning, but it’s there nonetheless. He lets out a weary sigh. Today was meant to be good day. A day where he was going to leave early and spend a few golden hours with his girl, perhaps treating them to a take-away before curling up on the sofa and listening to the still unopened vinyl they bought each other for Christmas.

The four glorious days they had enjoyed together at home now seem but a distant memory, even though it’s been less than week; 6 days, he calculates in self-inflicted misery. But right now he has to deal with some mystery customer Chop booked in that morning. He would have asked Mike to step into the breach, except it seemed his last client had extended their booking.

He tosses the first lot of gunky paper into the bin, his eyebrows knitting together. Who on earth needed three hours for what was scribbled in as a simple skull piece? And who was the “MFB” in the book and what on earth did they expect him to conjure up at the last minute? As he puzzles over the conundrum, his eyes are drawn by the iridescent remnants of the liquid on the floor, which are tantislisingly caught by a slither of late afternoon sunshine. He can’t help but run his fingers through it, teasing out miniature bubbles seemingly made of rainbows. He whips his finger back the other way and marvels at the patterns he creates, wondering which medium could possibly enable him to recreate this wonder so that he could share it with her.

A wry smile forms on his lips and he shakes his head at himself. Before he’s aware of what he’s doing, he’s progressed from subconscious humming onto singing:

How can you say  
I go about things the wrong way?  
I am human and I need to be loved  
Just like everybody else does

Swaying his hips as he cleans the floor, he near jumps clean out of his skin as he feels the heat of a playful slap on his backside. Spinning around, he slips slightly and has to grab onto the counter to steady himself. He’s glad he’s holding on, for when his brain finally assimilates that Rae is actually standing in front of him, in the flesh, the surprise has his stomach doing tiny flips.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” She grins. “Dancing with your arse in the air like that.” She shakes her head.

Her hair is loose and shiny and she’s wearing something he doesn’t recognise under her black leather jacket. Her smile always lights up his day, but what really draws him in is the depth of the glint in her eye. It’s not an expression he’s used to and it intrigues him such that all he can do is clear his throat.

“What are you doing, Finley?” Her raised eyebrows and tone command an answer.

He’s about to tell her about the rainbows, possibly even try to re-create them, when he remembers his misfortune and his voice comes out gruffer than intended. “Cleaning up. Got a client coming in soon.”

“Oh.” She pouts. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.” He stutters, palms upturned. “Chop booked it in this morning. The knobhead forgot to tell me, let alone ask me about whether it was okay.” He shrugs dejectedly.

“Oh. Right. That’s a shame.” She walks slowly towards him, but with undeniable purpose.

Flinging her arms around his neck, she places a single chaste kiss on his cheek. Then her breath is warm against his ear as she presses herself into him. “That.” She places a kiss on the sensitive spot of his neck, just below his ear. “Is,”a second kiss follows, “a” she nips this time, “real” another kiss, “shame.”

Before he can process what’s happening, she’s stepped right back out of his arms and he’s not sure how to feel. His mind skips through the possibilities at speed: telling the client he’s ill, begging Mike to stay late, rushing the job, taking tomorrow afternoon off… But his thoughts are cut short as Rae slips onto his couch, removing her jacket and carelessly flinging it to one side.

There’s something in the way she’s swinging her legs and pouting petulantly at him that raises the temperature of his blood. “Mae.” He warns, fearful that he’s about to hopelessly caught by her silvery web, denying that’s what he wants more anything despite his head telling him to get a grip.

Taking a couple of deep breaths whilst staring at his shoes, he’s incapable of forcing the words out of his mouth that will inevitably disappoint her. He reminds himself that he’s a professional, that they need his income to pay bills and that there’s always later tonight. When he looks up again, she’s twirling her hair around her finger, mouthing the lyrics to the Smiths’ track now filling the room.

There’s something about her, something he can’t quite identify. Lately, he’d been thinking about painting her in blues and greens. The inky blue of the night sky, the deep emerald green of the grass, the pale minty green of variegated ivy, the piercing blue of forget-me-nots. But today she’s none of those. Today she’s different. Today she’s a more intense, hypnotic hue, rather like the flowers on her dress.

He freezes. How could he have failed to notice the dress and, even more pertinently, her long bare legs? He swallows, his chest constricting a little. His hand goes up the back of his head, he rocks forward a pace, then spins around trying to compose himself. He finds his hand over his jaw as he battles against the unfairness of fate.

“Finn.” At first he thinks her tone is thick and sweet like honey. But the second time she calls his name, he detects an undercurrent of uncertainty, possibly nervousness.

It has him crossing the room and taking her hands in his. “I… I’m really sorry Mae.” He hangs his head, then turns an arm to check his watch. “I have to sort this client out. I know Chop wouldn’t have booked it in like that if it weren’t important and…” His words sound heavy and resigned as he seeks out her eyes to find them glinting and he frowns.

“So who’s this important client, then?” Her voice is louder, more defiant, more demanding.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Book said MFB or something.”

“MFB?” Her face creases in confusion.

“Aye. MFB. No contact number, no design, nothing.” He curses under his breath, a corner of his mouth curling up derisively.

Yet she seems unperturbed. “So it could just be a consultation or a quick love-heart type thing that takes 20 minutes?”

He grimaces at the thought of such a design. “Well, I ‘spose.”

“MFB… MFB?” She toys with the initials on her tongue.

He’s so caught up in his pacing around, puzzling over what tonight may bring, that he startles when he finds that she’s removed her shoes and curled her legs up underneath her. She appears to be alternating between inspecting a paper which lies on her lap, and her own creamy white skin. He’s mesmerised as her fingers sweep the skin just above her ankle and run up towards the shape of calf and back down.

As if of their own accord, his feet have him stood in front of her, his fingers replacing hers, swirling over the skin, seeking whatever her fingers had been trying to find. But there’s nothing other than goose bumps. It hit hits him hard, square in middle of his chest; it is midwinter and freezing outside and she’s not wearing any tights.

Helplessly, his eyes follow her fingers as they move to unfasten the top two buttons of the dress. He gulps, all thoughts of his now late client erased by her. Inhaling the spicy citrus perfume that she saves for special occasions, his hand twitches helplessly. As she exposes the delicate lace strap of a hitherto unseen bra, his lips meet the soft depression near her collarbone. She’s definitely neither blues nor greens today, nor the pale lilac that will come to bloom in the spring.

The taste of her skin is intoxicating and his lips kiss a trail down to the fullness escaping from lace. His fingers, unable to sweep aside sufficient floral fabric for his liking, are fumbling like those of a schoolboy with the next button.

“Finn!” She rebukes playfully just as his lips ghost over the thin, almost insufficient, covering.

He wilfully ignores her, his teeth nipping at the hardening nub beneath the lace. She moans softly, causing warmth to seep into his lower belly. His hips twitch involuntarily as his right hand starts to ascend the silky skin of her inner leg. He’s somehow managed to pull her forwards so he can bury his mouth in the flesh he so desires. Right now she’s made of hues of deep red: the crimson of roses, fiery scarlet, and the deep burgundy of the lace of her bra.

“Finn!” Her tone is firmer as she places a hand on his chest and pushes him gently back.

It’s even more confusing than the new underwear, the lack of tights, and her unexpected arrival. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he identifies a familiar style in the black drawing on the now slightly crumpled piece of paper. His hand shakes as he picks it up to examine it more closely with a creased brow, for he really doesn’t understand.

Taking a step back, he bites his lip as he appraises the simple but perfectly drawn maple leaf. There’s no mistaking Graham’s understated hand. The nagging pain in his head returns and he rubs his temples, trying to decode events, but it’s too much and he winces.

“Finn.” It’s the third time she’s said his name in as many minutes, but this time it’s softer, cooling. “It was kind of meant to be your Christmas surprise. I… umm…” There’s something vulnerable in her tone, verging on a tremor.

He stares at the drawing again and the pieces finally appear to be forming a picture. He runs a tongue between his lips and looks at her, eyebrows raised. He clears this throat but no words pass his lips. The tightness in his chest and head has him studying the laces of his boots, inhaling slowly, until he can raise his eyes back to the drawing. There’s no doubting the exquisite penmanship and beauty of his mentor’s work. He couldn’t have drawn it better himself. Yet there’s no escaping that he hadn’t been the one to draw it.

“It’s uh…” He stutters, casting his gaze around the room.

“You… you don’t like it.” There may be disappointment in her tone, but it’s her eyes that cause the lump in his throat,for they are wide and so luminescent that there can only be tears forming. The deep red of her passion has washed out to nothing but a muddy pink.

The distance between them has seemingly filled with cold air. “It’s incredible.” He begins, unsure of where he’s going with this. “Graham’s a fucking god when it comes to naturalistic drawing.” He notices a slight tremor running through her left arm, and he can’t help but place his hand on it. “So…” He swallows. “So, where do you want this pretty little leaf inked?”

“I… I don’t know.” Her voice seems quieter, smaller, her previous buoyancy punctured. She’s listing and he gets that it’s only him who has power to bring them back to safer water. To something more familiar, something he and his hands innately understand without having been taught.

“Well, ankles can be quite painful, but quite visible – you know, easy to show off.” He runs his hand thoughtfully over her skin, inspecting inner and outer joints. But it’s far from being the right option. The balance would be all wrong; the ink could be overwhelmed and its meaning lost, or worse still, misunderstood. “I’m not sure…”

In the fog of his internal commotion, he hasn’t been able to decipher whether the way her hands touch her chest mean anything. And, because it gives him an excuse, he carefully exposes a little more of her skin by undoing another button. Much as he would rather use his lips, his fingers run slowly over the skin, deep lines etching themselves on his forehead. His arm jerks backwards and a bitter taste forms in his mouth.

But it’s as if she can read his mind. “I just wanted to show you my new underwear.”

“Oh… uh.” He feels her reach out and push her lips into the palm of his hand. The skin feels warmer, more supple, as his stomach simultaneously contracts in excitement.

Once more, his right hand meets soft flesh. He purses his lips in concentration. “Shoulders are well good, as you have more options for covering, though…” He slips her dress back to expose the skin, dropping a kiss on her shoulder blade. “You have beautiful skin. It would look stunning here.”

He moves behind her to examine his canvas in more detail, to consider exact placement according to her very structure. Then he slips the dress forward, fingers trailing towards the burgundy lace. “But it could work equally well here.” He snuggles against her, leaning forward to kiss the skin just beneath her collarbone. The citrus of her scent makes him think of the exotic pink of grapefruit and the blood red of oranges, overwhelming his senses, such that he has to steady himself by grasping onto her left shoulder.

As he swirls the vivid colours in mind, somehow his other hand has snaked under the hem of her dress to reveal the flesh of her thigh. His lips find her neck, his eyes closed.

“Finley.” She squeaks, playing at smoothing down the hem of her dress.

Their fingers brush past each other, which finally brings him back to the present. “Thighs.” He stutters. “Your thighs are certainly a good place for ink.” He strokes her playfully, but then stops, utterly entranced as her own fingers lift up the fabric and begin tracing the intricate interwoven bands he had inked on her so many months ago. The experience is so ingrained that he can remember it as if it were yesterday. The fire kindles in his belly.

As he watches her intently, he decides she’s a hue of purple but he can’t settle on which – the deep purple of her favourite grapes, the intense violet of crocuses in spring or the mauve of a sunrise. As he ponders, Mike seems to burst through the door and the colours merge into one indistinct light.

“Heya.” He booms ebulliently with a huge grin on his face. “So, you both ready then?”

Finn’s jaw slackens and his feet remain rooted to the spot, his hand still on Rae’s leg as he faces his friend and colleague in discombobulation. When he finally regains control of his mouth, all he can do is open and close it like a goldfish until a pitchy “Wha’?” eventually leaves his lips.

Mike’s rich laughter fills the room as he adjusts the knitted beanie on the back of his head. “Finny-boy, when you’ve quite finished fondling your Mrs. or working out the placement for her leaf, you can tell me where yours is going.”

Finn’s eyes widen as the pieces of the puzzle finally form a coherent picture. Something swells and fills his chest, expanding until it explodes, sending a myriad of tiny electric currents through his body. They relieve the tension in his muscles and spark his synapses into action. Much as he wants to question and receive confirmation of his suppositions, he needs a moment and stares at the emptiness of the mundane cream wall, folding his arms in front of him.

The physical soon overtakes and his mouth quirks up at one corner. By the time he has turned his head the quirk has become a grin, and before he knows what’s happening, a giggle escapes. The giggle becomes a laugh expelling the remaining nerves from his pores where they evaporate on meeting the air.

He catches his bottom lip with his top teeth and turns to face Rae, whose blush has deepened from the violet and pink of his nan’s favourite roses to a glowing ruby. He raises his eyebrows “Both?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who commented liked and reblogged the first part. I really appreciate all your thoughts on my fics.
> 
> A huge thanks to the ridiculously talented @how-ardently for being the most patient and kind beta.
> 
> SMUT warning

For once Rae’s lost for words, not babbling on in the inimitable fashion Finn has come to adore. Her cheeks have the palest lustre, like the edge of a delicate shell. They draw him in, his fingers extending in marvel.

A loud cough emanates from the doorway. “I’m just going to make a cup of tea and clean my studio.”

Snapping his hand against his chest, Finn turns, and mouths his thanks to Mike, fully aware of the beginnings of the stupid grin on his face. Mike simply nods his acknowledgement and wanders out.

In the ensuing stillness, Finn’s eyes return to the colour of Rae’s skin; the blush has deepened to the corally pink of the inner shell which achromatises beautifully to the alabaster of her body. Its allure has him motionless and mute for an inestimable period of time.

When consciousness kicks back in, he throws his hands behind his head, stretching out his body. Cool air wafts over the exposed skin between the bottom of his white t-shirt and the black jeans that have slipped lower onto his hips but it does nothing to assuage the growing heat within.

Wandering over to his couch, arms still in the air, his top lip curls up into a pout. He’s about to indulge in a little game of his own but her colours are blanching. So he lowers himself carefully onto the couch next to her and tucks her tumbling hair behind her ear.

“You… you don’t like it.” Her voice is quieter, more subdued. “I was going to explain but I got a bit carried away with the excitement of my surprise and…”

“I fucking love it.” Every word is suffused with fervour. “It’s a bit of surprise. But an absolutely mint one.” Shaking his head, another giggle involuntarily escapes.

“Is the leaf… I mean, do you really like it enough… is it strong enough…” She falters.

He cups her cheek with his hand. “It’s absolutely exquisite.” He presses his lips to hers. As their foreheads connect, he admits, “I couldn’t have drawn it better meself.” His lips linger on hers once more.

Yet, something nags at the back of his mind. Something that makes him shuffle back, take her hand in his and compose himself. Something about surprise presents. Something that filters out the abstract pigments and returns him to the weight of limbs and her hand in his .

“If we’re going to do this, I need to be completely sure that you understand you’ll have this on you for the rest of your life.” He lifts her hand and clarifies, for his own sake as much as hers. “We’re going to have these for the rest of our lives.”

She squeezes his hand. “That was kind of the idea.” Her tone is jovial, but he catches the passing change in the irises of her eyes.

“Mae.” His voice is replete with tenderness. “I can’t think of anything more cool. More us.” He chews the inside of his right cheek, his mind wandering back to Christmas Eve. It can’t be just because he wants to believe it; he has to know, to be sure. “You absolutely certain that you want me to have one as well?”

“Finn.” Her hand is soft and warm against the stubble on his jawline. “I would be fucking honoured if you would have one too. I’ve been thinking about us having matching tattoos for months.” Her eyes sparkle with conviction. “I’ve done my research and spoken to Graham at length .”

“This was all for you.” She continues, her lips full and expressive, her cheeks glowing pink. “And I really, really want it too.”

Automatically, his mouth pulls to one side in a slightly awkward quirk as he fights the swell of his emotions within.

Her fingers slide down his jaw, rest on his shoulder for a second, run down the sensitive skin of his arms and then interlace with his. “Are you… Is it the matching tattoo curse thing?”

When he meets her gaze once more, her head is dropping low. It’s as if her aura is waning, the colours losing their freshness, becoming indistinct.His eyes follow the sweep of her hair down to the open buttons of her dress and the dark lace beneath. 

That’s when it finally hits him; she planned this, all of this, not just for him, but for them and he’s been overthinking things. There’s a rush to his brain, a boyish excitement, a light-headedness, that makes his face crack open in a huge smile.

He raises his eyebrows. “Matching tattoo curse?” He can’t help but shake his head because there’s laughter on his lips and his next words are important. “You know girl, we write our own stories.”

“Hey. That was supposed to be my line.” She retorts joyfully.

He watches her eyes illuminate and he has to breathe more deeply to concentrate because they’ve still got to get this right.

“So where exactly are we putting these leaves then, Mae?”

“I… well… I’m not exactly sure.” She brings a leg up in front of her and her fingers skim her ankle once more.

“Ah.” He smirks. “Here was I thinking you were jus’ trying to seduce me earlier.”

The flush of her cheeks quickly changes from rose through to the red of flame as she looks out of the side of her eyes. There’s nothing left in him to resist and his lips are soon on her cheek in a succession of slow deliberate kisses that lead him home to her mouth.

His tongue traces from one corner of her mouth to the other and back. Pulling on her bottom lip, he feels her body arch forward into his. It’s not long before he has slipped his tongue into her mouth and the kiss grows into something heated and consuming.

The sensation of her fingers grasping the back of his t-shirt and pulling him flush to her has him groaning softly into the kiss. She’s really kissing him now, pushing her full chest against him, a hand sliding under the back of his t-shirt.

He feels her trace the muscles of his back and shoulders and then slips round to his side and up to the firm contours of his chest. It would be all too easy to abandon himself to her touch, to lose the world around him, to forget their purpose. In an attempt to regain some control, he moves his lips to her neck and shoulder, one hand tangled in her hair and the other lying safely on her back.

He thinks he’s found a little calm, but her fingers begin their familiar swirling trace of the intricate ink on his left bicep. His stomach muscles flutter in anticipation and want. It’s as her fingers reach his inner wrist that he gasps and his grasp on reality slides. His eyes flutter closed and he finds his mouth on hers once more. The stars on his inner eyelids shine hypnotically.

They soon dissolve into blackness as the door bangs open and he hears Mike clearing his throat but there’s no question, simply an “Oh. I see you’re still deciding on placement.”

Finn returns back to the couch, his studio and reality but the world still feels hazy from the desire still alight within. So he drops a little unsteadily to his feet and turns towards Mike, his teeth catching his inner cheek. He’s about to say something, make a mist of an apology for taking so long. But he’s not going to insult this friend with half-truths. His mind is searching through the possibilities, running over the inches of bare skin, when he notices Mike’s gaze drop down his body and back up .

Mike starts to play with his beanie again. “You know, I uhh.” He clears this throat with a weak cough. “I’m really thirsty today. I’m going to make another cup of tea.” His stare is firm but instant as he clearly enunciates his following statement. “Chlo’s expecting me home for supper, so I’m going to be back in 15 minutes, once I’ve prepped my stuff.” With a wink, he’s gone, shutting the door carefully behind him.

Finn looks to Rae, bemusement bubbling inside. His teeth trap the corner of his lip, pulling his mouth to one side as she pointedly stares at his body.

Her eyebrows arch in response, her mouth forming the prettiest of smirks. “Oh Finnley.” Her eyes flicker amber and gold.

That’s when he becomes aware of the heat of his own body and he doesn’t need to look down to discover the root of her amusement. Instead he shrugs, choosing to be subsumed by the orange of fire that seems to surround her. He’s not sure whether she’s the source or whether it’s being reflected off him and is glimmering and darting across her face as she jumps up.

He watches with intent fascination as she wanders over and fishes in one of the drawers. A look of pure joy comes over her face as she pulls out a battered looking mixtape. A tape he remembers playing for her so many months ago.

All thoughts of time are lost as Otis’ sweet strains of “These arms of mine” suffuse the air. He approaches slowly and deliberately. But she backs away; the delaying of the inevitable causes the muscles of his lower abdomen to contract delightfully .

There’s the briefest internal acknowledgement that he should be devoting his energies to that which bears far greater significance and permanence. But try as he might to hold onto the impending task in hand, the maple leaves in his mind dissolve into a wash of marbled burgundy, auburn and ochre.

Taking her face in his hands, he desists from immediately kissing her. Instead, he starts to sway his body from side to side as he unbuttons her dress further and slides his hands across her silky skin. The way she moves her hips in time with his, despite them not quite touching, renders him a complete mess. He moves in as if to kiss her but the sense and scent of the skin of her cheek against his is utterly intoxicating. Indulging in her softness, he takes his time to move his face such that their lips almost, but don’t quite meet.

There’s a slight tremor in the hands she places on his chest that dissipates as he places his hands over hers. It’s his last attempt to dampen the bright yellow flames in his belly. Reason finally succumbs to instinct as he helps her pull his t-shirt over his head. 

His head drops back as she places a succession of kisses from his ridiculously sensitive neck, down towards his collarbone. Placing his hands on her hips, a low groan escapes him. It’s as she starts to nip at his shoulder that he has the briefest of moment of clarity: the leaves should be in matching locations, and the shoulder blade wasn’t a bad idea.

However, the thought is instantaneously expelled as soon as her fingers find his belt buckle. Clumsily he fumbles with his fly, the anticipation no longer so sweet for it is now partnered with an urgent desire. Feeling her hand upon him, he has to blink several times as it feels like the blood has drained from his body. But her touch alone isn’t enough and he slides the fabric of her dress up her thighs and it rumples in his hands.

Pressing himself against the thin lace that covers her elicits the breathiest of moans that renders him weak in the knees. Allowing himself to kiss her deeply is part blissful and part incendiary. Three deep breaths later, without really understanding what he’s doing, he’s grinding his pelvis up and down against hers, aware of how insubstantial and damp her panties are.

His mouth connects with the burgundy lace of her bra once more, hands pushing a strap from her shoulder, desperately trying to release the flesh within. The satisfaction when lips and teeth finally tease skin is only fleeting as her hands push his jeans and boxers down to grab his behind and he can no longer bear the fabric that separates them.

His fingers fumble so impatiently that he tears her delicate knickers, causing the most fleeting moment of awareness. Yet it is quelled by the way she gasps into his neck and wriggles herself obscenely against him. Using both hands, he frees her from the remaining fabric, uttering profanities into her skin.

Hands grasping her bottom, his knees dip and he lifts her against him where he has needed and wanted her for the last half hour. As she wraps her legs around his waist, he positions himself and slides carefully inside her, his mouth opening in pure rapture. He can’t help the soft growls that follow in between snatched breaths.

Despite the extraordinary sensations induced by even the slightest tilt of his pelvis, it’s not enough. He needs to be deeper. Shuffling carefully back, he deposits her carefully on the edge of his couch, his lips never leaving her skin. The rhythm of the music keeps his pace measured as he rolls his hips into her, punctuating his breaths with a series of kisses.

As she runs her hands down his arms, he shudders. Slowly he opens one eye to find her gazing directly at him, glowing with a white heat. He struggles to maintain eye contact as she bites her bottom lip and traces the intricate network of tattoos that spread from shoulder to near wrist. When he finally can’t take it anymore and concedes, his breath hitches in his throat, his senses absolutely at the limit.

Feverishly, lips meet skin and his pace increases exponentially until his hips snake near brutally into her. She’s pressing forward to meet him, arching her back and hiking her legs up higher. He slides his fingers between them, the pressure and the urgency building so quickly that he fears he alone will not be enough.

She gently sweeps his fingers away and tilts her pelvis up, pulling him firm against her. One hand curls up into his hair and the other runs up and down his spine. As she presses her cursing lips to the spot on his neck that always drives him wild, his vision fills with electric blue so vivid that it almost blinds him. As she begins to shake, his almost reckless pace begins to stutter as pulses of pure ecstasy start to course through his veins until he can take no more. Burying his head against her shoulder to stifle his rapture, there’s one final effort as a galaxy of shooting stars explodes behind his eyelids.

In the moments of silence that follow he nuzzles against her skin, feeling her right arm press up against his left. She interlaces their hands and drops a soft kiss on the conjoined fingers.

As his heart begins to slow and his shoulders stop heaving, he can hear the words of the song playing in the background. However, his eyes linger on their hands and the simple beauty of skin resting against skin.

“You ok, dickhead?” Her breath tickles his skin.

“Holy fuck yes.” He rasps into her chest.

“Good. Your focus will be on the right job then.” She giggles softly.

Once more he’s been royally played and he blinks his eyes and presses his lips to her collarbone. It’s only when he’s fully caught his breath that he manages his retort. “You… you’re a complete minx Mae Earl, or should that be Mrs. Finny-boy ?”

“Mrs. Finny-Boy?” She rolls her eyes.

“MFB… So that were Chop’s idea. The git.”

He presses himself back against her warm, flushed chest fingers idly forming shapes on the overly-sensitive skin of her still exposed thigh. Revelling in the way her body trembles with mini aftershocks, his fingers creep higher and his mouth presses kisses on her neck. He mutters a “so” half under his breath, then lifts his head, biting his lip and raising an eyebrow as provocatively as possible, hoping she’ll get the gist .

“Definitively no.” She orders.

“But…”

“Number one, I know only too well if you get anywhere near my lady-area, you’ll be ready to go again in no time.” 

He begins to scoff, but her hand brushes against his cock, which has begun to twitch.

She giggles softly. “And number two, Mike will be walking through that door any minute now and you haven’t decided where to put your maple leaf.” Her face twists to one side, taking her smile away as she buttons up her dress. A frown mars her face as she swallows and smoothes the fabric over her thighs. “Perhaps this doesn’t work so well as a surprise. Perhaps I should have thought about it a bit more. Think I probably got a bit carried away with excitement and the romance of it all…” Her words vanish into the air.

Were he not fighting with his t-shirt, which in his rush has ensnared an arm and his head, he would be hugging her and telling her not so be such a dickhead. Instead all that comes out is a muffled ‘Mae,’ something he’s grateful for as her need to fill the silence, for once, takes them forward.

“I mean, we haven’t even talked about placement on you yet. Part of me thinks it would be fitting to have them in same place, but I don’t want it to be naff. I mean what are the rules with these things? Is it acceptable to have matching tattoos in the same place if they’re hidden, private just for us? I know it’s not the same as having someone’s name on your arm but… And you’ve got so much ink that a little leaf is going to look a bit lost when faced with scale of rest of your work…

I mean you could have it on the shoulder blade like I was going to, but you’ve not any work on your back yet and perhaps you would like to keep it virgin? And having it on your ankle – well, that would look dead silly, and I really don’t think it would sit right on your legs or feet.”

Finn plops his weary body down on the couch next to her and opens his mouth, but Rae’s off again before he can slow her down.

“This is so much harder than I thought it would be. I mean, it’s not like it’s a massive design, it could literally go anywhere. I suppose you could have it next to your huge piece. perhaps along the ribs or on your hip or…” Her face scrunches up. “But then again it could kind of get lost. And putting it in the wrong place, well it could diminish what it’s supposed to mean. Oh, why did I think doing this as a surprise would be a good idea?” She runs a hand down her face and takes a deep breath.

“I just wanted to give you something special and unique, something to remember, something that’s not just for Christmas. But I should have given it more thought, we should have talked about this and perhaps we could have designed it together, or perhaps I shouldn’t have even bothered…”

“Mae.” He interrupts, grasping the hand that’s now picking at her cuticles. “I’m having mine here.” He reveals a small expanse of skin on his left inner wrist. “I will be able to see it when I’m working or scribbling away in some boring college lecture… or just when I’m doing the dishes and stuff.”

Eyes alighting on the skin, her fingertips brush over it. “But won’t it sort of upset the flow of your sleeve?” Her fingers run around the margin of his tattoo.

“Nah, not at all. I’m not sure most people will even know it’s there. It’s a very public, yet almost secret tattoo.”

“I like that.” A smile grows on her face. “I like that a lot.” Her fingers run over his wrist. “And, if you’re wearing a watch, it will almost be invisible.” She tucks the hair that has fallen in front of her face behind her ear. “Then you’ve got the options of long sleeves for coverage or shirts for formal occasions, bracelets for when it’s warm…”

“Bracelets?” His face contorts quizzically to one side.

“For me, dickhead.” She bops him on the nose and his eyes grow wider. “Unless you feel like borrowing some of my bangles?”

This mini-revelation settles him into comfortable smiling silence.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

 

The door rattles slightly with the force of Mike’s knock and Rae nestles her head against Finn’s chest, as he loops an arm around her shoulders.


	3. Surpirise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to my wonderful beta @how-ardently as I would have given up without her wonderful advice.   
> (Whiter Shade of Pale is a song by Procul Harum in case you’re wondering.)
> 
> Warnings - hangovers from past abuse and innuendo

“Time to get going kiddies.” Mike’s voice booms out in warning before he opens the door. Finn’s instantly on his feet and spraying down the work surface. “So, where are we placing the leaves?”

“I’m going for left wrist.” Finn spins around.

Mike takes the bottle from Finn’s hand, sets it down and inspects his canvass.Finn articulates exactly what he means with his fingers as Mike supports his hand.

Rae almost bounces over to join the pair. “I’m having mine in the same place.” She states in a crystal clear tone, pushing her upturned wrist next to Finn, which Mike has to take in his other hand.

“So matching ink and matching placement?” He raises his eyebrows, searching for confirmation or hesitation from the pair. They smile at each other, then at him.

He purses his lips and slowly lets their arms drop. Stroking his goatee beard, his top lip curls up a little and he takes a pace back. “You know, if it were me, I would place them on opposite wrists.” His tone is quiet and deferent. “So that way, when you hold hands, the leaves will be together .”

There’s a new warmth in Finn’s chest, and the slight strain in his shoulders from his earlier exertions has disappeared. Rae beams at him, extending fingers of her right hand as if testing the fit.

“You absolutely sure you’re up for this, girl?”

She grins and then leans forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips, almost knocking him off balance.

With Rae in his arms, Finn’s mouth gets slightly ahead of him and his words come out in a rush of enthusiasm. “You know, if I ink Mae first, I reckon it wouldn’t be too hard to ink myself afterwards. Left wrist should be do-able with a right hand… got to be careful of course. But they’re not big pieces, I won’t be too tired and I’m gonna freehand them and….”

“Just stop there.” Mike commands. “You may be breaking lots of house rules today but not that one. Need I remind of the time Chop…?”

“He was pissed.” Finn retorts.

“Doesn’t make any difference. It took of us enough time to sort out the cover-up. This design may be small, but think of its significance of what it means to you, you div.”

Finn bites his thumb. “Will you… I mean could you freehand mine? I mean without a transfer”

A wave of expressions flit across Mike’s face as he considers the possibility. “You do realise they won’t be exactly the same without transfers?”

“Yeah, but that’ll make them even better- unique. Each a piece of art with the quirks of its creator.” Finn feels Rae squeeze his hand gently.

“You trust me to do it justice?”

Finn meets his friend’s warm dark eyes and nods, watching as they light up in recognition. “If you’re comfortable with it, so am I .”

“Right then.” Mike wheels a second stool across towards the couch. “Before we begin, I want you both to know that tattoos are permanent and for life and….”

“Mike.” Finn groans.

“We’re doing this properly Nelson, put a sock in it.” And with that, Mike continues reciting the riot act that all clients receive before he will place a needle on their skin.

Although it feels a little odd to have Mike next to him, Finn soon settles into his meticulous regime of preparation. However, he begins a little more formally than Rae is accustomed to, such that she pouts until he gets the hint and leans over to bestow a kiss on her before needle meets skin.

Finn works carefully, adding his own flair to the design Mike holds, continually checking that his girl is coping with the pain he’s inflicting in the name of art.

Some twenty minutes in, Finn notices the goosebumps on his arm. He realises he’s been insulated against the cold by the warmth emanating from Mike’s body as they sit thigh to thigh.

“Could you do us a favour and get Mae one of the blankets from the office?”

“I’m fine.” Rae snaps.

“Do you need a break? I’ve got some hobnobs stashed in the office. They go really well with a cuppa.” Mike offers.

“You’ve got hobnobs in the office and you didn’t tell me?” Finn quips, trying to keep his worry under control.

Mike snorts. “What with you and Chopper, they wouldn’t last an hour!”

“Fair point.” Finn concedes with a shrug of his left shoulder.

“So is it a two sugars, or three, time of day?” Mike gets to his feet.

“Hum…. Feels like three, but if we having biscuits, better make that two.” Finn replies.

“Especially if you’re dunking them in the tea, I know the chocolate melts a bit but it’s bloody delicious.” Mike lips his licks.

“You know how I feel about dunking…” Finn replies but Rae starts to speak over him.

“For fucks sake, you two. Can you quit your domestic love in? This is a small tattoo, not some great masterpiece, not the Mona-fricking-Lisa, so can we just get on with it? You…” She looks at Mike. “Get me the blanket. And you,” she looks at Finn, “Get your needle back on my skin .”

The men look at each other with ill-concealed smiles, but do exactly as bidden and Finn returns to creating his favourite kind of art. Working freestyle dictates that the process is more time consuming. By the time he finishes, Rae‘s eyes are closed, breathing a little faster, her skin a little wan.

“Mae.” He tenderly strokes her hair and places a kiss on her forehead. “It’s all over. I’m done.”

“Oh.” Her eyelids flutter open, a lazy smile forms on her lips as she inspects her latest addition. “It’s… it’s… thank you, Finn.” She leans forward to kiss him, a small tear escaping her eye unbidden.

Holding up his gloved hands, he brushes the tear away with his cheek. “I’ll just get cleaned up, yeah?” She nods and closes her eyes again.

He’s so busy with the disinfectant that he startles at the sound of Mike’s voice.

“Rae… you ok, petal?”

Finn spins to find Rae a whiter shade of pale, Mike standing over her. He rushes over so quickly that his feet skid on the linoleum floor and he bumps into his friend.

“Mae!” There’s more than a little panic evident in his voice.

“It’s just a white-y Finn. I’ll go and get the biscuits.”

As soon as Rae’s finished her second biscuit, she’s brimming with apologies for worrying the boys unnecessarily and full of explanations that she had only had a packet of crisps for lunch.

Finn’s torn between lavishing her with love and affection and admonishing her not taking what he deems sufficient care of herself. Instead, he busies himself with diligent application of cream on her skin, followed by overzealous wrapping, before finding his feet once more.

The worry fills his thoughts, leaving him rocking back from his front to back foot, observing her like a hawk, his thumb in his mouth, unable to take the steaming cup that Mike has tried to pass him. It takes Rae’s calm, cool voice to bring him back to the moment.

“For the love of god, will you drink that tea. I am fine.”

“But….”

“Look you’re going next, so you probably ought to sit down and have a couple of biscuits with it too.” Rae throws a hand over her mouth to try and stifle a huge yawn. The earlier giddiness of her surprise has worn off and the hangover from her poor night’s sleep can no longer be ignored. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

Finn opens his mouth in protest, but the words are prevented by her wide eyed pleading and the hand Mike lays on his shoulder.

“You know she’s right. Practice what you preach, Nelson.” Mike proffers the roll of biscuits and Finn somewhat reluctantly takes one and sits down silently next to Rae, staring into his tea cup.

His quiet, “Sorry. I’m being an over-protective knob,” almost gets swallowed by the sound of the Smiths cassette Mike has slipped into the player before busying himself with his own preparations.

Even though Mike’s back is turned, Rae leans forward over his shoulder and whispers “S’okay. I know you were just worried.” She kisses his cheek, and waves her newly inked wrist in front of him. “You ready?”

The warmth of her body behind his and the music have him smiling once more. “Sure you don’t need one of them piano concertos playing, Mikey?” He challenges.

Mike’ shoulders roll nonchalantly as he strides over. “Think I can cope.” He winks. “Come on then, you know the drill.” He sits on the stool, long legs pushing against the couch.

Rae may have found her feet, freeing up the space for Finn to lie down, but she finds herself being pulled back to the couch. Frowning, she pats his shoulder a little absent mindedly, missing what he’s asking through touch alone. It’s only when she detects the tremor in his arm, that she spots the fleeting glance in his eyes. It’s neither haunted nor reluctant nor pleading. But it was there.

Mike solves the puzzle first. “Rae, do you think you can keep really, really still?” The corner of her mouth curls up. “That arm needs to remain free and relaxed.” He gestures at Finn’s left wrist.

“What?”

“Hop up.” Mike grins. “As we’re breaking so many goddamn rules, what’s another one!”

Finn’s grinning like the Cheshire cat when she finally succumbs, curling up on her side, her head on his chest.

“Comfy?” His voice is low, his breathing deep and even.

“Hum.” She assents, focussing on Mike’s more perfunctory but incredibly precise preparation of Finn’s skin. There’s just a moment where she wonders. It’s less than doubt but more than just nerves, for she’s only too aware that she sprung this on Finn and just maybe, he could come to regret his own impulsiveness in allowing himself to be swept away on the tide of her high emotion and enthusiasm.

“This is going to sting.” Mike states almost devilishly smirking at Finn, pausing needle in hand.

“Ever the drama queen.” Finn chuckles.

As needle meets skin, his breathing remains remarkably deep and even. Rae imagines he has his eyes closed, immersing himself in a monochrome world of lines, patterns and symbols, like she had visualised passages of her favourite books playing out. As Morrissey’s dulcet tones fill the otherwise empty air, she submerses herself in words once more.

The first reverberations of Finn’s body are so slight, so organic, that Rae does not consciously register them. Yet her pulse quickens a little such that images begin to blur at the edges and the voices of her heroines become less distinct. Her already closed eyes droop further as she feels the purr of Finn humming and her limbs feel heavy as a deep warmth swathes her limbs like a blanket.

The last notes fade off into the click click of the cassette reels turning. “Mae?” He whispers.

“Out like a light.” Mike responds quietly. “You okay?”

“Hum, yeah.”

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do this.” Finn locks eyes with Mike, the beginnings of grin playing on his lips. “I mean, I’ve done filler work on you before, but never a whole piece. Never freehand. I know it’s only small, but…You’ve done so much on me.”

“You’re doing a great job. I’ve always admired your style.” Finn soothes.

Mike raises his eyebrows. “Quit with the sycophantic bullshit, Nelson.”

Finn bites his lip, knowing he’s currently not in a position to argue back, for that would deplete the reserves that are keeping him calm, blocking out any pain. Closing his eyes, words spin around and cluster, forming part sentences and structures, but nothing coherent comes.

Mike has been working solidly for an hour when Finn’s whole body tenses. He wipes down the ink and observes his friend for a few seconds, needle poised. Satisfied it’s okay to continue he returns to his craft, eyes flicking between the piece of paper and the skin in front of him.

Mike only makes it another couple of minutes in when Finn’s hand claws. Although Finn’s face may be a little taut, the cadence of his breathing never changes, so Mike persists. The third time, Finn’s eyes fly open, breath catching in his chest before his body becomes unnaturally still.

“Breathe out slowly through your mouth.” Mike whispers.

“It’s… .I’m just… get back to work, Mikey boy.”

Counter-intuitively, Mike acquiesces, but it’s not long before Finn’s winces, fingers tensing once more.

Mike considers the predicament before him: he knows Finn well enough to understand he can easily withstand the pain, yet something troubles him. Something about Finn’s disproportionate response that brings hazy snippets of a long forgotten drunken weekend from the depths of his memory. Suddenly the room seems much warmer and he pulls his t-shirt away from his neck, which is hot to the touch.

“You know what mate, I’m fucking parched.” Mike wheels his stool back, noting the way Rae’s head rolls from side to side.

“Finn.” Rae’s voice is thick with sleep. “You’ve never had your wrist tattooed before, it’s just a sensitive spot. We all have them.”

“God, will you two stop fussing like a pair of old women.” Finn complains. “It’s nothing compared to having me ribs done.”

Mike sighs long and hard, considering his words very carefully. “Mate, some people say… they think.” He swallows. “They think that skin holds memories.” He carefully unfurls Finn’s tightly packed fingers.

The words hang heavy in the air. Finn chews his lip. “Suppose, I could… I could use that cup of tea.”

“You stay there, I’m brewing.” Rae drops a kiss on his cheek and pulls on her jacket before pottering out.

Mike rolls his neck, stretches his arms in the air but doesn’t get to his feet, acutely aware of what he’d said, his stomach churning slightly with the fear of denial or reprisal.

“You… you knew.” Finn stammers.

Mike grimaces at this confirmation, shaking his head as his vision blurs with a different pattern he’d glimpsed on Finn’s wrist many months ago. A pattern comprised of deep, livid hues that snaked up his arm, criss-crossed by angry red lacerations. His words are nearly swallowed by the lump in his throat. “Not exactly. That crazy weekend in Camden, I…I saw…”

He pauses trying to hide the lilt in his pitch. “Back then, I merely suspected but it seemed… I told myself…” The words are sour on his tongue, guilt pressing against his lungs as he remembers how readily he had accepted Finn’s muttered and implausible explanation of a drunken tumble.

“I should have… I let you down.”

Finn’s fingers seek out his. “I wouldn’t have listened. Not back then.”

Failing to find a comfortable position, Finn sits up. “D’you know, the funny thing is, I can barely remember anything about that weekend. I was drinking a lot. Not just because we were meant to be partying, but it were like self-medicating. Not just trying to take the edges off. I wanted to numb everything – not just the physical stuff but the whole world around me.” He turns his arm in the light looking for the silvery lines under his ink. “I just didn’t want to…to feel anymore.”

Mike winces at this wholly unexpected candour, in contrast to the joyous occasion this was meant to be.

“Of course it didn’t really work. Alcohol and stuff blocked stuff out enough that I could bury it away. And for a short time it kind of worked. But that sort of stuff comes out in other ways. It leaves it mark.”

He swallows. “I’m sleeping better now, though sometimes it’s still there. I try not to let it get to me. But I can’t help but wish I’d been able to let myself see it back then, been braver and stuff.”

“What was, is what was. We can’t change the past…” Mike plays with his goatee “But I still wish I’d opened my eyes more, been a better mate. Maybe things could have been different.”

“No point playing the what-if game. It just drags you down. All of us, we have to live for the here and now and our futures. Even if that means taking one day at a time. We have to try and do the things that make us feel whole, that make us happy and our hearts feel lighter or even soar.” Finn looks down at his partly completed ink. “Whether that’s listening to music, dancing, studying, or getting impulse tattoos because you’re so stupidly in love with someone that your heart overrules your head. ” He chuckles and adds in a low voice. “Actually, me head said it were a good idea too.”

Mike has a huge grin plastered over his face, which falls slightly as he starts to speak. “You know it’s great to hear you talking about stuff… not just speaking. For someone who claims they’re no good with words, you certainly can make some powerful statements. Being with that girl has certainly changed you. All these new found talents.”

Finn cocks his head to one side. “Rae makes me feel whole. She makes me want to be a better person. But I reckon it wasn’t that I couldn’t do stuff like talk or me art… it’s just I didn’t know how. It’s like she helped me find something in me, something I’d forgotten was there. I reckon I’m stronger than I thought.”

“Blimey. And I thought I was the philosopher of the group.”

“Piss off.” Finn laughs knocking Mike’s beanie to the floor. “I’m not about to swallow one of your dictionaries any time soon.”

“Fuck off, you dick.”

“Pretentious tosser.” Finn gesticulates with his right hand.

“Musical wet-dream wanker.”

Unable to contain her sniggers against the upper sleeve her jacket, Rae bangs two mugs of tea down on the side, snorting loudly.

“You two.” She giggles. “Pair of bloody children.” She shakes her head in mirth. “Honestly. If you’re going to bother playing insult trumps, you could come up with something a bit more inventive. You pair of juvenile dozy pillocks.”

Mike and Finn’s crinkled eyes meet, and there’s a moment of silence before loud guffaws erupt around the small room, reverberating off the walls.

When Finn finally calms down sufficiently to talk, he looks at Rae with a deadpan face. “Can you pass us me tea…. Madam Dickhead?”

“Finley!” Rae raises her eyebrows.

“Please mum?”

Rae marches over, tea in hand and in her most saccharine voice intonates. “If you didn’t have a half inked tattoo on your wrist, and this wasn’t tea… I’d be pouring this over your pretty little head, darling.” 

“But Honey, I need your help. Remember this knobhead has a half inked tattoo on his wrist.” Finn flutters his eyelashes at Rae.

Rae has her hands on her hips. “Well, such a good thing I thought to bring this, darling heart.” She deposits a straw on Finn’s lap.

Mike folds over on his stool coughing and laughing. He spins around and scoots across the room, causing the couple to share a look before dissolving into sonorous peals. By the time, he’s stopped clutching his sides and made it onto his feet to retrieve his tea, Rae is chucking softly, feeding Finn tea through the straw.

“I thought you said tea and biscuits.” Mike’s face contorted several ways as he tried to appear as innocent as possible.

Finn chokes a little on the tea he inhaled as Rae rolls her eyes dramatically and leaves the room. Returning with the roll of chocolate biscuits, she takes a bite from one, making appreciative noises as the pair watch on.

“Oh you wanted one, did you?” She wanders round and drops one into Mike’s hand and pops one into Finn’s mouth.

It’s quite some minutes before the trio settle down. Having just washed his hands, Mike makes his way over to the stool, purses his lips and wanders out.

Rae looks quizzically at Finn who simply shrugs. Mike returns, rattling a cassette which he pops in the player, before washing his hands once more and pulling on a pair of gloves, snapping them at the wrists for effect.

Mike’s still smiling as needle meets skin and the beats of Motown bounce around the room. Rae holds Finn’s right hand, despite his protests, her foot tapping away on the floor. The second sitting seems to fly by in shared song lyrics, laughter and silly jokes and Mike’s soon wrapping the tattoo.

The pair are hugging, Finn profusely thanking his friend and praising his work when “Do You Love Me?” starts to play. Within seconds the pair are dancing riotously around the room, singing loudly at each other, hips dropping low and raising up.

Rae watches half astonished, half amused as they sway outrageously facing each other, Mike’s hands on the back of his beanie and elbows aloft, Finn with his arms in the air front of him. Suddenly they’re pressed back to back, bottoms grinding against each other, in time with the beat, heads tilted backwards belting out the words.

Finn pulls Rae, towards him with his good hand, toning down his movement but pushing his pelvis against her nonetheless. She laughs as the boys holler and whoop. Mike takes her left hand and twirls her around and Finn catches her before letting Mike spin him across the room.

Rae’s breathless and exuberant when the track finishes.

“It’s from Chop’s favourite film.” Finn offers by way of explanation, kissing her cheek.

“Dirty Dancing.” Mike smirks. “Dance with me baby,” He directs at Finn, who bursts into near hysterical giggles.

“Do you remember that party…?” Finn begins but is cut off by the first of many hiccups.

“The less said about that the better… Oh Shit.” 

Finn’s eyes follow Mike’s to the clock. “You go, I’ll tidy up.” He says earnestly.

“Since when does the client do the tidying up? It won’t take me long. You should rest so you heal faster.” The previous frivolity is gone from his voice. “We probably shouldn’t have been looning around…”

“Mike, I heal fine. It’s not going to be a problem. Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” Finn passes him a box of gloves.

It’s not long before the place is spick and span, while Rae sits a little disgruntled, listening to music, as the men insisted she should.

“Right, I’m off.” Mike smiles at Rae, Finn having wandered out to the office.

She leaps to her feet, crying out her thanks and throwing her arms around him. “Thank you for everything. For coming to London, for helping me have confidence with my design and the idea and what you’ve done today. You know I couldn’t have made it happen without support.”

“Not a problem, Rae.” Mike responds, patting her back. “Glad I could help you both out. And it was bloody good fun.”

“I mean it Mike, today couldn’t happened without you.” She affirms, needing to say more. But there’s a slight hesitation. “You… you’re a great friend to Finn. I mean to us. And, an amazing person.”

“Rae.” Mike’s voice lilts soothingly.

Although she knows it’s his way of telling her she doesn’t have to, it’s more than a case of simply wanting to; she needs to. “I’ll always be sorry for how I treated you, for the way things happened, and…” She breaks off, incapable of expressing the emotion fluttering inside her, beating its wings, wishing to be set free.

“Petal. I’m glad we had that time. I think…” He lets out a breath. “I think we were meant to have it. We were meant to meet each other, as without that I don’t think either Chloe and I, or you and Finn… It’s been quite the journey, hasn’t it?”

Finn leans contentedly on the doorframe, not sure whether he should enter, lest he should inadvertently make his friend feel awkward. Yet, it’s not long before Mike catches his eye; the slight accompanying nod of the head gives him permission. At the last second, Rae and Mike turn towards him and he’s enveloped in a warm embrace.

There’s a blissful affirming moment where Rae lays her head on his shoulder and Mike hand draws him in closely with its reassuring and familiar weight. It’s all too quickly dissolved as Mike says his goodnights.

Finn follows him out to the car park, lighting up as soon as he’s out of the door, quietly offering his own words of appreciation, which Mike accepts with a slight blush as he unlocks his car.

But then Mike returns, folding the rim of his beanie upwards. “There is something. I was, uh… hoping you might design a piece for me. Something for the wedding.”

Finn raises his eyebrows in silent question.

“I haven’t given it much thought yet. But it needs to be something special, intricate to mark the occasion, but it’s got to fit in with the rest of my work.”

“Any idea of where you want to put it? You’re kind of running out of skin for anything of real scale, unless you want to start on your legs. But if it were me, and you know I’m biased, I reckon it’s not about size or density.”

Mike puts a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, this whole leaf thing has got me thinking. Placement wise, it’s tricky… there’s still some space on my hip and ribs.”

“And your arse!” Finn jokes earning him a well-deserved eye roll and sardonic smile.

“So, I was thinking perhaps we could talk about it in a couple of weeks. Look at some designs.”

“Course. Mae and I could come over to yours with a takeaway and some beers one night?”

Mike’s lips purse. “Actually, I was thinking perhaps we could shut the shop, take the day off and look at options. Perhaps we could go to London or somewhere. It’s been far too long.”

Finn’s mind fills with memories of them whiling away hours together in dingy pubs or grotty cafes, putting the world to rights and sharing the intricacies of their lives and thoughts, which were so often hidden behind the banter in the day to day. “If we’re going to make a day of it, I think we should go to the coast. Bracing walk, long lunch somewhere. It’s off season, quiet. Easier to talk.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to…”

“Nah. I want to finish our conversation from earlier. I want to talk, to tell you. It’s okay. I want to. I mean if…”

“There’s things about the wedding too.” Mike responds, shifting his weight to his other foot. “I have stuff too.”

Uncharacteristically, Finn’s the one to initiate the embrace. “We all have stuff. That’s normal. Whatever normal is.” He laughs wryly. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve not really been around recently. It’s just been a bit of a rollercoaster. “

“There’s nothing to feel bad about. I would have asked if I really needed it. Things are just piling up a bit right now.”

Finn bites his lip. “You know we could make a weekend of it. I mean if the girls don’t mind. Perhaps they could do something together.”

Mike squeezes his shoulder. “That’d be good. Really good.”

When Finn returns inside, Rae is ready and waiting. He draws her in, inhaling her heady scent once more and then places his lips on her neck. “Thank you, girl. Thank you for tonight. It’s the fucking best Christmas present ever.”

He holds extends his arm to admire the design once more and she brings hers alongside, their heads touching in light of the symbol of what they have become to each other.

“Fucking amazing.” He kisses her cheek.

“Those nasty evil spirits will stay away.” She giggles.

“But you do remember what else maple leaves were used for, don’t you girl?” His voice becomes husky. “Why they were hung at the ends of beds?”

She giggles as he nuzzles her cheek, which turns a delightful hue of coral.

“If I remember rightly girl, I still have some business to see to too.” He slides his hand downwards from her waist and pushes it towards the apex of her thighs.

“Finnley.” She chides. “Really not very romantic.” She glows a deep ruby, toying with the grin on her lips.

“I didn’t think it was romance you were after.” He smirks, moving his fingers.

She gasps at the pressure of the contact, which is soon followed by his mouth trailing from one collarbone to another.

“Finnley.” It’s so much much sterner than intended that he takes a step back.

“Firstly, we need to be home. Not getting away with a quick fumble. Secondly, I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours.”

His jaw drops and he shivers as a frisson of excitement runs through his body.

“And when you’re done.” She adds, a wicked glint in her eye. “I want to ride you until neither of us can take it anymore.” She pauses whilst he lets out a shaky breath. “That’s if you’re still capable of three rounds.”

“Round three?” he stutters.

“Love-making after fucking.” Her voice is quieter more unsteady. “I mean perhaps after we’ve had some tea and…”

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” The chuckles in his throat die out as his fingers elicit the breathiest of moans in his ear and his own breath catches.


End file.
